


The Great House Party

by Granddaughter_Ogg



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Brotherly Affection, Brotherly Love, Dorks in Love, Drunk Dancing, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, House Party, I will add more tags as I go, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Kissing, Ladykiller In Love, Making Out, Multi, Mutual Pining, Partying, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Quickies, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sibling Rivalry, Summer Romance, Work In Progress, and also with War, being poly is hard sometimes, that means strife and the reader, which was long unresolved, with DEATH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Granddaughter_Ogg/pseuds/Granddaughter_Ogg
Summary: The Reader is happily in love with both Death and War. Her relationship with Strife remains frustratingly ambiguous tho. She's as attracted to his silly ass as she is confused by the attitude he's giving her, and the gunslinger proves to be an absolute dunce about those things. There will be a great house party on a heated summer night - during which we'll find out that a) Fury has a killer singing voice and b) Death shouldn't drink.Seriously, he shouldn't. He'll have an Existential Crisis and require help from the brother that he doesn't get along well with.Everything will fall into place during that fateful night - and the day after.But since the Reader has little experience in dividing her attention fairly between all the men she loves, and Strife is easy to succumb to his selfish instincts, their budding romance is on the rocks from the get-go.





	1. Let's have a party!

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a longer piece, peeps. Please be patient with the slow(ish) burn.  
> We'll get to Explicit Content by chapter 4 at worst. I promise. *winks*

**The night was damp, sultry, vibrating with lights and music.**

**It came at you as this onslaught of sensation: too much, all at once, like a wave.**

**You could feel your legs giving in. Your better judgement getting off the hinges, bending like a boiled noodle.**

**You felt hot, bothered and not exactly sober. Although not nearly drunk enough for your poor choices.**

**So maybe it was** **those three beers that did the talking. Maybe it was just you.**

**„I feel like doing something stupid...”, you said in a low voice.**

**His eyes went huge. At** **that moment you could see nothing else. Two golden moons, glimmering with drunken lust and feverish hope.**

**His smile was like a shark’s. You should’ve been put off by the grimace – but then again, you did have had those three beers.**

**„Well then, kid, you’ve come to the right Horseman”.**

_  
_

**_THREE WEEKS EARLIER  
_ **

A party!

The idea sprouted in your head during one of those long, awfully hot summer nights.

It so happened that none of the Riders had any murderous business to attend.

Unless prodded to do something together, they spent their free time much like giant cats. That is: exerting minimal effort.

They lazied around on sofas, which has been moved out to the spacious veranda. It didn’t help much with the heat.

But the night wind rustling through greenery surrounding the house was nice.

Now it blew through War’s shiny hair while he dozed off. The moths smashed their little furry bodies against the lamp.

Fury chuckled softly, those pearly peepers glued to the monitor of her laptop. Strife decimated a pile of doughnuts while Death read _War and Peace._

It sure was peaceful. Which means that nothing happened.

You hanged around them with a humongous glass of iced tea, feeling more hot and bored by the minute.

„It will take you forever to finish this”, you chimed in, tracing the Reaper’s pale forearm with your fingers.

„It just so happens that I have forever.” He didn’t even lift eyes from the page.

You felt like an ignored puppy.

„Why would you spend even a minute of it on this musty ol’ doorstop of a book anyway?” You whined, climbing onto the Reaper’s tight abdomen

and leaning over the tome in his hand. Death gave out a sigh.

„I see”, he said with a half-smirk, stroking your chin with his long fingers. „You wish I’d lavish you with attention instead?”

You pouted. „Well, yeah! I’m bored outta my mind.”

„ _Later_ ”, declared Death and got back to reading.

„Whut?”

„I’ll attend to you later. Very thoroughly, too.”

Damn his narrow ass. The eldest Rider had such a way of announcing those things. Curt, even standoffish, yet subtly playful in his own way.

As much as you’d wish to get in a huff - you felt defeated by the note of dry amusement in his voice.

But you sure as hell weren’t gonna show it.

„Death!...”

„Didn’t you hear what I just said? Now get off me, will you? I’m about to get to the good part.”

Strife chortled - and then had the gall to wink when your head sprung back. The bastard.

„There are no good parts in damn _War and Peace_ ”, you mumbled, scampering off the Russian literature aficionado.

You set your hopes on War instead. The Big Guy didn’t object to being crawled on, because he was snoring.

So you lied flat on his broad chest, spreaded your arms wide and pretended to be this kid from _Totoro_.

The steady tide of War’s breath was like the sea’s murmur. Soothing.

„So, which part are you at, exactly?...” you muttered, pressing your cheek to the warm vastness that was the sleeping Horseman.

„Natasha and Prince Bolkonsky are having their first waltz”, said Death. „It’s exquisite.”

 _She’s gonna cheat on him and he will die in the war,_ you thought to yourself, but of course, didn’t say it aloud.

You said only: „Waltz. Dancing...I’d love to dance.”

„Hey pancakes, you could always hit the town with me.” Strife chimed in, his lazy tone implying that he’s is absolutely not invested in the proposition.

„I could?..” You were baffled.

„As if I’d allow that”, said Death calmly and turned a page.

„Oh come on, D!”

„Yeah, _D_ , don’t get your low cut panties in a twist..." Strife dispatched the last doughnut and casually threw the empty tray through the wide-open veranda doors into the house.

It flew with a „swoosh!” and bounced off the kitchen wall before falling precisely into the sink.

The showoff.

„It’s not like I’m gonna take my eyes off her...even for a second.” The sharpshooter appraised you with a half-lidded look.

His freckled skin was dark, but not quite brown.

You’ve never met a human – or any other being, really - with a hide of such colour. It had deep purplish tones of a ripe eggplant.

Those golden eyes shined like burning coals in contrast. And now they glided all over you.

It produced a weird sensation in your spine. Not exactly unpleasant, just...alerting. Like that time long ago when you licked a 9V battery and got shocked.

They were no easy answers with Strife.

You couldn’t tell what his deal exactly is. You two bickered, you two bonded, you fell out over something trivial, rinse and repeat.

Sometimes he made fun of you, sometimes he seemed to really care. Was that budding camaraderie, or just teeth-clenched teamwork?

The most laid back of the Horsemen kept you on your toes, all the time.

„Those dens that you frequent are not suitable for her kind”, stated your most beloved Nephilim and got back to his read.

„Yeah, cause I’m such a delicate flower, me”, you snorted.

Death ignored you. He would accommodate you in many ways, but got downward paranoid when it came to your safety.

Those fears of his weren’t all unfounded.

Many marauder demons still traipsed the post-Revival Earth; remnants of a once-great army, eager for food...or just for something alive to toy with.

And during your shared journey through the realms Death witnessed how easy to kill or maim you are.

You couldn’t blame him for being overprotective.

Further bickering seemed pointless. Instead you got an idea. It flashed upon you abruptly like the cartoon lightbulb.

„Let’s throw a party”, you said.

„Huh?…” Strife didn’t seem to follow.

„I said, let’s throw a party. Here. In this house. Let’s get booze and food and stuff. Let’s finally put those bigass speakers you got to play RDR2 to good use.

Let’s invite all sorts of folks over and be merry!"

„Those are damn good speakers…” remarked Strife slowly.

„ _Yeah_.” You grinned. „That’s what I’m saying. Now imagine _Fuel_ blasting through them.”

„You’ve got me here, pumpkin”, said Strife, throwing his hands in the air. „I’m sold.”

You turned to his twin. „Fury?”

„Oh, I don’t care much about parties”, said the purple-haired one. Her eyes were fixed on funny cats prancing through Youtube.

Then she sat up and brushed a tendril behind her shapely ear. „Wait. Did you just say you can make music play really loud tho?”

„As loud as you wish it to be.”

She licked her lips. „Even…Beyoncé?”

You subdued a knowing chuckle.

The only thing bigger than the rageful vixen’s newfound affinity for cheesy pop songs…was her need to hide this fondness from her kin.

It seemed to have wavered though.

„ _Especially_ Beyoncé.” you said, your mouth tilting upwards. „I can’t imagine a better tune to dance the night away.”

„Then I’m on board with this”, said Fury swiftly.

Half of the crew down, another half to go.

„Hey, War!” you jumped up and down, sitting astride the snoring giant.

If he were a regular man, he’d probably wake up with a start. War just opened his bright eyes - slowly - and gave you a smile that was not quite there.

„What is it, Little One?…”

„We’re gonna give a party!” You bounced off his firm stomach, excited like a toddler.

„Lots of music, lots of booze, lots of people, too! You’re with us?”

„What about food?” That was the Red Rider’s only input. Then he yawned, grunted and stretched to his whole impressive length.

The ripple that went through this powerful body almost knocked you over. You laughed breathlessly and clutched onto his shirt.

„Food, sure. We can build a barbecue of epic proportions. Like the one we used to have back when I stayed with the Makers. I’m sure Ulthane will know how to run one.”

„Ulthane! Haven’t seen this old stump for some time now. Also, I’d love some roasted meat.”

War’s peepers shone brightly at the idea of a feast; you didn't need to coax him further. As Strife’s put it: he was sold.

That left you just with one remaining member of the Nephilim Squad. Unfortunately, he was also the grumpiest one.

You first and most beloved. Death.

You looked him in the eyes with pleading.

„D, can we have a house party? Please, please. I’m so bored, I’m gonna climb up walls!”

The Pale Rider bookmarked his page, closed the ancient yellowed tome - and sighed.

„It’s not like I can deny you now, can I?” he said wryly. But the corner of his mouth was twitching, and that flame in his eyes was kind.

„Although this is going to put this whole household in a state of disarray.”

„Well, War’s armour pieces already fill the bathtub…and Strife likes to frisbee used dishes into the sink. So you mean, like in more _disarray_ than it already is?”

You gave him a shit-eating grin.

Death chuckled. „Good point. Though I have objections. What exactly do you mean by _lots of people_?”

You calmed down and started to count on your fingers.

„Oh, nothing too excessive. Just a bunch of friends. Like Ulthane and some of his Makers and some angels, I mean, Uriel and Usiel would both be down for it, and maybe Vulgrim…

„Vulgrim steals everything that isn’t riveted to the ground”, said Death dryly.

You giggled.

„Yeah, I reckon. But what exactly can he snatch from our crib that would be worthy enough to fund that soul habit of his? _Spoons_?”

„Oh, you’d be surprised.”

„Okay, then maybe not him. But Fury, Strife, you both should totally bring your human friends from Haven, too! I’d love to meet them.”

Fury nodded absentmindedly.

„My friends…from Haven?” Repeated the gunslinger in a weird voice.

„Yeah!” You were too preoccupied with your trail of thought to think much about Strife’s suddenly tightened expression.

He went still for a while, then shrugged.

„Your wish is my command.”

„Cool! Oh, this is gonna be fun. I bet Azrael was never to a proper barbecue before…”

„Wait.” Death lifted one hand. „What are you saying? Azrael? The Makers? I have nothing against them, but they would never fit inside this house.”

He was right. You and the Four bought this derelict estate, tore it down and then rebuilt to fit their proportions.

Especially to War’s, who never felt at ease in human-sized interiors, what with all his bulk.

But the magical Scot people were another case entirely. Same went for Azrael’s nonsensical display of poshness, which was his damn wings.

You grinned and slapped your forehead.

„They won’t…but they’ll fit into our _yard_. Let’s make this a garden party, people! The nights are way too hot to sit inside anyway.

War, do you have any additions to the guest list?”

„As long as there’s food, I don’t care”, stated your beloved lug of a man and went back to napping.

„Strife?”

„Lemme see…Make sure to invite Jack Daniels”, quipped Strife and chortled.

You couldn’t help but smile either.

„I am going to regret this”, stated Death stoically. „But _so be it_.”


	2. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party unfolds and the Reader has to confront her own long unresolved attraction to Strife, who - yeah, you've guessed it - is acting kind of like an asshole. Thankfully Azrael, ever the voice of reason, sees right through him and won't hesitate to impart his wisdom on the Reader.

The heat of the humid summer night clung to your skin. You felt the moisture trapped in your hair, a trail of sweat wandering down your back under your light cotton sundress.

You stood on the doorstep, nursed a beer, and watched the party unfurl around you.

All the guests invited answered The Call, as you’ve jokingly named it. War made a face and Death told you you shouldn’t use such wording flippantly.

It took three weeks of intense communication between the realms to get the invitations out.

Sometimes you’d use Vulgrim’s Serpent Holes, sometimes you’d resort to e-mailing (Azrael was definitely one progressive archangel).

Setting a date that fit everyone’s schedules proved to be a tall order, but —to your pleasant surprise— they were all here now.

‘ _I guess they do like me,_ ’ you thought to yourself. It was a good thought to harbour, like a little fuzzy creature held to your cheek.

The spacious yard before you teemed with life, the buzz of conversation high in the air.

War has brought out all the sofas, the recliners, and even your bean bags for the smaller guests to rest on.

He and Death also carried in some wide tree stumps for the magical Scots-people, although none of them were that fond of sitting.

„Ma legs start to feel funny when I do thaet fer too long,” as Ulthane would say. The Makers were an energetic bunch.

Ulthane and War built the barbecue in your garden. That’s right —built, not just put together, because it was humongous. The smallest stones used for its base seemed bigger than your head. An iron-wrought lattice served as the grill grate. War apparently “borrowed” it from some abandoned house down the road.

„No one is going to miss that thing,” or so he told you.

You thought that even if there were in fact people living in that decrepit place, they probably laid low in fear while one angry-looking giant took their gate away.

Various meats sizzled on the barbie, filling the yard with an appetizing scent. There were chicken legs for the humans —you specifically asked for them— but also a whole deer.

Where the heck did Ulthane get a deer?

You watched the Maker flip the roast with the steady hand of a pro while he chatted with War. The Red Rider wouldn’t be pulled away from all this food even with a bulldozer.

His lightning blue eyes twinkled with glee. You knew this is where your second love’s gonna stay until the party’s end.

At least until the end of deer.

Death and Strife have rolled out a battery of beer kegs. There was also a table where the small-handed folk could mix their own drinks, if they so wished.

Fury’s acquaintances from Haven (a bunch of perfectly nice kids, from what you could gather) were already helping themselves to it. Their laughter rang in the air.

‘ _Maybe I’ll join them_ ,’ you thought, ‘ _But not just now. In a while.’_

Twenty feet away from them resided Fury herself, who was in charge of the music.

She lounged on a pile of bean bags and clicked continuously on her laptop, which has been connected to Strife’s high-end gamer speakers.

She looked ecstatic. The beat of Beyonce’s „Sweet dreams” boomed loud and clear in the trees.

Uriel and Usiel perched on two ends of the longest sofa available. Both looked awfully nervous, sipping their drinks and kicking their feet to the tune.

They tried their damnedest not to peek at each other.

‘ _Oh, great,’_ you smiled, _‘We’re gonna have some good ol’ party drama. Just like in high school.’_

Speaking of drama. Strife really threw you for a loop there. The sly fucker brought in his two girlfriends.

At least that’s who you assumed they were.

„Angela, Janice, meet the resident Princess Peach of this house!” The gunslinger’s voice boomed in your ear, making you wince. You turned around and there he was, looking damn fine in tight jeans and a black shirt with its sleeves rolled up. You could admire all the ink.

His voice was already anointed with booze, eyes sparked mischievously. Strife had both arms around two of the finest women you’ve seen in a while.

They were both crazy tall and wearing spiky heels. The gunslinger didn’t even tower over them that much.

Long and lean ladies, leggy, all in all beautiful. Angela was the dark-skinned one in a gold-sequined number. She blew you a kiss.

Janice was pale and had perfectly straight, silver blonde bangs, the kind of which you’ve only seen in fashion magazines so far. The hair reached all down to her ass.

She scrunched her nose at you. You felt awfully short and fat all of a sudden.

Like a peasant standing next to royalty.

„I have a name, you know...” you hissed at Strife. He gave you a shit-eating grin. The bastard.

„Angela. Janice. _So nice to meet you_.” You nodded stiffly at the two goddesses, not sure whether or not to offer them a hand.

Theirs were busy stroking the smiling Horseman.

„Gosh, is that Azrael over there? Sorry, gotta go!” You huffed and ran.

His smirk burned you even while you fled.

You dove into the angel headfirst. Like a kid running to their mom when they’ve been bullied at the daycare.

„Why hello there,” Azrael’s level timbre was music to your ears.

You pressed both palms into his gown and looked up to that sensitive, intelligent face, into the all-knowing eyes, which were now twinkling with amusement.

„Sorry about that,” you breathed, ”Had to get myself out of a tight spot.” He just nodded. Of course he did.

„So, Az. Are you having fun?”

He smiled again and lifted up a flute of champagne.

„I have to say that I am,” He missed a beat and then stated simply: „You care about him, don’t you.”

You inhaled sharply.

„You talkin’ about Death or War? Because I sure as hell do care about them both.”

Azrael let out an adorable little chuckle.

„Of that I’m fairly sure. No, I meant the third brother. The troublemaker.”

„Strife?” you snorted, „No way! Why would I want to have anything to do with that irresponsible, nasty, self-centered piece of ass…?” Your voice trailed off.

„Besides he only dates models,” you mumbled.

Azrael took a sip from his flute.

„This is exquisite. Who picked this vintage?”

„Death did. I don’t know shit about them finer drinks,” you said absentmindedly. Where was Death anyway?

Azrael chuckled again.

„I admire your piercing candor. Never change.”

Twenty feet from you, Fury climbed to the top her beanbag throne, eyes ablaze, an angular bottle in one hand and a pair of headphones in the other.

You realized with a start that the most sensible of the Four was probably full of Jack by now.

Her exultation shone like a hundred suns.

„Hey, that’s my gear! Watch it!” That was Strife, lounging on a recliner with a bottle of his own. The pretty ladies all but _slithered_ over his long frame.

You looked away.

„Fuck off, brother!” cried Fury with gusto, „Dear guests! This one goes out for all the feathery friends who joined us tonight!”

The vibrant tones of Beyonce’s „Halo” filled the yard.

_Remember those walls I built_   
_Well, baby, they're tumbling down_   
_And they didn't even put up a fight_   
_They didn't even make a sound_

Uriel risked a glance at Usiel. Usiel looked back. Then they both abruptly turned away from each other.

„Oh, my,” whispered Azrael playfully, „That’s so sweet, it’s making me blush.”

You gave him a hard stare.

„You almost never blush, Azrael. You make _other people_ blush. That’s your M.O.”

_I found a way to let you win_   
_But I never really had a doubt_   
_Standing in the light of your halo_   
_I got my angel now_

You couldn’t let Uriel and Usiel out of your sight. It was fascinating. She stared into the other angel’s eyes with hard resolve and wiggled her eyebrows, finger pointing at the portion of the yard that served as the dancefloor. The humans were already there.

Usiel nodded curtly and they both stood up. Their wings brushed awkwardly against each other. You could tell that neither of them are any good at dancing.

„You know me so well.” Azrael’s knowing smile started to get on your nerves.

„I knew you just once, I mean in the Biblical sense. But it sure was eye-opening.*”

„Yes, I can remember.”

„What, are you gonna gloat now?”

„Never.” The angel leaned in closely. In his eyes was only kindness.

„I cherish that memory greatly. I cherish you. That’s why I’m going to tell you this: not one of those stunning females currently all over Strife is his _date_.”

You looked through him as if he was a windowpane.

„I need to find Death”, you stated bluntly and left.

_You're everything I need and more_   
_It's written all over your face_   
_Baby, I can feel your halo_   
_Pray it won't fade away…_

The angels shared a kiss before the song ended.

* Please see my other story called _Azrael is a kinkster_ for juicy details.


	3. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Reader finds Death, comfortably tucked away from all the hubbub. Shenanigans of a slightly erotic nature ensue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo I wasn’t able to produce a full chapter, but decided to put this out there anyway as a way of climbing outta that mental slump. The quickie wasn’t supposed to happen, but one does not simply bugger Death when he’s busy - and not get railed. I guess. Slightly lemons ahead. Let me know in the comments if you’d like some of that action or should I rather speed up and resolve that Strife arc. Enjoy.

**T** hat small exchange of words left you irked for some reason. _„Stupid Az”,_ you thought, pushing through Fury’s humans. _„What does he know?”_

You elbowed your way past people who were dancing, drinking and having a generally good time.

Some shot you baffled looks, but no one tried to stop you. You were a stranger to them after all.

A stranger at your own party.

You desperately needed Death. You craved for his strong arms and his sarcasm. You wanted to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

To take in the inimitable scent of dead leaves under November rain, mixed with his manly musk.

To glance up and watch that little wry smile, coiling his lips whenever he looked at you.

You learned to treasure that subtle grimace, for as far as you knew, Death was unable to smile in full.

You’d see him smirk or simper or get a rise out of people with one corner of his mouth tilted upwards. But never just grin heartily, not like Strife did.

Never mind. You got used to that.

Now you wanted nothing more than to ascertain that he loves you.

To ascertain yourself.

You searched every inch of the damn backyard, checked every sofa while mentally berating yourself for acting silly.

He was a 7.2 feet tall hulk of a man, not a chihuahua. You’d spot him from afar if he was there at all.

That meant…he must be inside?

The house felt very different now, all quiet and mostly dark, with the clamour and the lights of the party pressing at the windows.

You checked in the main room, now emptied of the furniture. The silence hit you like a bag of bricks. He wasn’t there.

You breathed in the warm, stuffy air while you moved forward, creeping up the stairs.

One of the doors on the first floor was slightly ajar. A narrow beam of yellowish light fell on the hardwood, showing you the way.

You took a deep breath and put some spring into your step.

„D, what the heck are you doing in here?” you asked, strutting inside Death’s bedroom.

Candles on the windowsill exuded dim, jittery light, in which you could barely make out the outline of his dark head and broad shoulders.

He sat in his bed, back propped neatly against the iron headboard - and read that fucking book!

„Fishing, obviously.” His low drawl grazed your ears.

You weren’t having any of this. Not tonight.

„ _Death!.._ ”

You climbed on the bed, crawled next to him, kneeled astride his long legs and looked him in the face, producing the most decisive expression you could muster.

The Reaper didn’t seem moved by this in the slightest. Those ember-like eyes of his still followed the lines of print.

Only when you held his gaunt face in both hands, he did acknowledge your presence. By sighing.

„What is it now, girl?”

„What do you mean?”, you whined. „Things are happening outside while you shut yourself up in this musty bedroom with damn Tolstoy.

You’re missing on the whole party, Death! _My party._ ”

He closed up the book, put it aside and traced the outline of your chin with his long fingers. His fiery gaze held yours. It was not annoyed. More like solemn.

„I’m not a very festivities-oriented individual”, he murmured, the slightest note of apology slinking into his voice.

„Well, couldn’t you just try?” you pleaded, letting go of his face and leaning into that huge palm touching yours, revelling in the closeness.

„Just for a little bit. I don’t ask for much, D, just get over there and I dunno, dance with me once.”

You knew you sound like a whimpering child, but words just spilt out of you. „Uriel and Usiel just danced, and then they kissed…”

„Did they now? I guess she has what you would call _a type_.” Death chuckled under his breath.

„That’s not the point!…”

„Ah.” Death’s eyes lit up with wry amusement. „Now I see what this is about. _Posturing._ ”

„Well, what if it is?” You pouted.”I just wanna feel like I have a boyfriend.”

His hand left your cheek and moved upwards, immersed in your hair, fingers brushing against your scalp. You lowered your lids and arched slightly to accommodate his touch.

„You’re perfectly aware of how I feel about you.” Death’s voice was calm but implacable. „I don’t have to prove it to a crowd of strangers.

That means no dancing. And especially no kissing in public.”

„How about you kiss me now?”

You were so frustrated with his mulishness that you just went for it. Lunged forward and pressed your half-open mouth to his.

You attacked him with such fervour, Death’s head bobbed backwards. But a moment later he was as in control as always, muscles taut and steady, those wiry arms coiling around you, pinning you into place. 

The place being – incidentally – his crotch.

You broke contact, panting slightly.

„What’s got into you?…” Death had this incredulous look on his face, but his eyes were twinkling.

„The same thing that gets into me whenever you’re around”, you huffed, desperately gripping at his neck. „Hold me, dammit.”

Death cocked an eyebrow.

„This I won’t say no to.”

He pulled you in so close that your upper body pressed into his chest. That alone proved enough to speed up your breathing. 

He had one hand still submerged in your locks, the other palming your back, drawing circles around the tender base of your spine.

You trembled while he brushed his chapped lips over yours - and groaned with impatience when he moved away.

„Such a needy girl you are”, he murmured lazily. That velvety smugness in his voice gave you goosebumps.

„Yeah”, you breathed. „I’m hopeless like that. Kiss me.”

He did. His knowing lips made your knees week, your whole body trembling and your fun parts coil in anticipation.

He flickered your tongue with his and that’s when you utterly lost your shit. An ungodly wail rose in your throat.

„Oh, very well then”, Death moved away and whispered into your temple while covering it with swift, feathery kisses that made your head swirl. Both of his hands moved up your back now. „I will satiate you.”

„Death, just fuck me. I need you. Please…”

His wide lips curled up. Was that a grin? Almost.

„I intend to.”


	4. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I finally went back to writing this story that has been on my back burner for half a year or so. Welp, life happened. :)  
> My apologies for replacing the last chapter. It was incomplete, and today I finally got to wrap it up the way it was supposed to be.  
> I added like a page of text to it, but writing - and editing - that page took me two evenings and I'm really proud of how it went.  
> This time I'm gonna upload on the regular. I hope you're still interested in this story!

**H** e gripped your waist, lifting you from his lap. Before you knew it, you were sprawled across the bed, lying down on your belly.

His huge palm rested on your ass and pressed it; then shifted upwards, pushing you into the mattress as it went. Finally it rested on the nape of your neck. You gave out a shuddering sigh when his fingers closed around your hair, pulling it a little.

„I don’t have much time for this”, he rasped into your ear, leaning over you – a long, intimidating shadow of a man. His sheer physical power could overcome you as easily as it would be for him to grind a flower petal into juice. He used only a fraction of that power, a truly minimal amount. And yet you were done for: shivering, pliant, your breath rushed, your whole body yearning for more of his malice.

Quick fucks with Death always somehow reminded you of an assault. And you loved it this way.

„Yeah, yeah”, you mumbled into the bedding. „I know. Tolstoy’s impatient.”

Death’s whole frame trembled with silent laughter. He flickered his tongue over the soft skin behind your ear and sat up before you had the chance to react in any way. The hand cramming your upper back into the mattress lingered though.

„That’s a charming comeback.”

You giggled with your mouth full of linen.

„Stay this way for a while, will you? I need to remove _the obstacles_.”

You stayed as in riveted into place. One of the best sounds in the whole world – the jangle of a man’s belt being undone – made your ears twitch.

Then his pants rustled.

Then the bed creaked.

And suddenly Death was again all over you, his lithe, yet muscular body pressing you into the bed, pushing the air out of your lungs.

You yelped faintly.

„That’s right….” Death propped himself up on both elbows. His lazy whisper pierced you through. You knew about the Rider’s half-and-half origin; you were positive that this intoxicating velvety rasp comes with the demonic lineage. And Death knew well how helpless you’re against his voice. He knew - and savoured that advantage, the control freak that he was.

„I don’t have much time...so I won’t be tender.”

„I hope so”, you breathed.

His large hands kneaded you like putty, loosened up every taut muscle, moving down, down, until they cupped your asscheeks. He pulled the dress up and tugged your panties aside so vehemently, suddenly there was a telltale sound of tearing fabric.

Your breath hitched.

„Sorry”, he murmured.

„No, don’t - ” you gasped. „I mean, I don’t care, don’t you stop now!...”

Death chuckled into your neck (you got goosebumps all over), while his long fingers crept down to your opening, ready to work their magic.

„That’s my girl.”

He slid them in and out, meeting little resistance. You were already slinking wet.

And judging from the hard shape that aggressively pressed into your tailbone – Death didn’t need any more ceremonies either.

„Stick it out, will you”, he murmured, holding your bum in a steady grip.

You complied with a giggle, feeling both dirty as hell and giddy from anticipation.

He went inside you like knife into butter.

No matter how soft and pliant you already were, Death’s first thrust always made you see black. For a while you were as if thrown into dark water, breathless from the impact. And then the murky waters parted and you could see again.

Not that you needed your sight much. Not with his hand, steadily pushing your face into the pillow.

Death went at you slowly, but mercilessly, his whole body pressed to yours, because you liked it this way and he did, too.

Between his bones-flattening weight and his earthy smell, the world outside ceased to exist. You were wrapped in this cocoon of sensation, blind and earless to anything that wasn’t Death.

That murderous self-restraint of his slow, dragging moves drove you up the wall though. You already felt him so intensely, filling you up with brute force, but you wanted more.

You always wanted more.

„Death?...” you whispered.

„Yes?”

„ _Go harder._ ”

He chuckled into your neck. It was a little smug snort, which you knew well and learned to love.

„Feeling greedy tonight, aren’t we.”

„Oh, you have no idea...”, you groaned. Why in the world this made you think of Strife? His lopsided smirk suddenly floated to the surface of your mind.

You pushed this vision away. You were not gonna think about one man while being full of another. That’s just not right.

Death probably had a sixth sense or something, because he perceived the change in your thoughts.

„Are you sure of this?” he asked in a low voice, his cheekbone brushing yours.

„I am. Please, Death. Fuck me hard. Make my lose it.”

You heard him inhale with a sharp hiss. Then harder he went.

Another beautiful thing about this man? (There were so many.)

He could rail you like a machine, but his grip on your hair didn’t tighten one bit. It remained strong, but by no means painful.

No matter how voraciously Death took you - he’d always remain in full control of all his actions.

Such a degree of self restraint was inhuman. It scared you shitless. It mesmerized you.

You pressed your eyelids together and succumbed to just feeling. Brutal pleasure rose in you in leaps and bounds while you cried and panted, until it filled you to the brim. Until you felt that throbbing sweetness creeping up your feet and fingers and then swelling inside you like a ball of blinding light.

And he could tell your peak is coming.

„Oh, Death...oh God! Oh Go-od... „

„Just <Death>is fine, thank you”. The fucking gall of that man. That fucking voice of his. So low, so calm and level. Like a knife.

You came with your mouth wide open, face pressed into the bedding, a long, shuddering wail escaping your lips. It was such a primal sound. Not pretty.

Luckily your harsh lover never cared much for prettiness.

His long fingers went slowly at your scalp, separating the sweaty locks of hair. Then he thrusted twice or thrice more, just to be sure - it felt like being ripped in two, you gave out a guttural cry every time. Death sighed almost soundlessly and his whole long body relaxed.

„Aren’t you gonna?..”

„No.” That was but a whisper.

„But...why?”

He slid away from your hot, soft insides, lied next to you on crumpled bedding and held your instantly worried face in those long, long fingers.

„That one was for you.”

You looked at this man that you adored. This otherwordly creature, equally well versed in caustic wit and carnage.

A being which you’ve befriended, tamed and somewhat hoped to understand...but you didn’t. Not really.

„I love you, you know.” That was more a declaration of helplessness than anything else on your part.

His glare could grind people to dust, but right now that flame in them was almost rueful. Mellow.

„I am aware of that.”

That too sounded as if he’d faced a puzzle he couldn’t crack – and acknowledged his limitations.

You two stayed together for a while. Death lied on his back, those neverending legs stretched far outside the flickering candlelight. You curled up to his side and savoured the cool, balmy sensation of his body touching yours.

And he held you, too; one palm rested on your thigh, which you’ve thrown over his, another absentmindedly cradled the back of your head.

Well, just cradled it, you’ve corrected yourself. Who could tell whether this man ever did anything without giving it thought.

You just took it all – him all - in.

Your lover was long and sinewy, all hard angles and pale scars, his skin taut and of that impossible, ashen-grey tint that fitted no living thing. Yet there he was. Frightfully real. Death always seemed more vivid, more tangible than anything around him.

He was the solid ground under your feet. A fixed point among all this ever-uncertain, whirling craziness which has begun the day your world catched fire.

He smelled like earth, too. Like dead leaves, damp tombstones and heady candle smoke mixing with fog.

Long time ago you’d believe that an entity called Death must have a freezing touch. These days you still didn’t know about the one with the lowercase d...but _your_ Death had remarkably normal circulation going on. He also had a breath. Right now it brushed the top of your head with small, steady zephyrs.

What did the Nephilim even need air for if they could walk underwater for hours? Another question you’ve never asked.

‘’I love you...”, you murmured instead.

His fingers gently traced your nape. It was a fine moment while it lasted.

Of course it didn’t last for long. Not with Strife, Fury, that heated summer night and copious amounts of hard liquor written into the equation.


End file.
